Free The Story of Danny Dunn by Bryce Courtenay Page A

it?’ She paused, smiling, her head to one side. ‘Please?’
    What could he say? He could hardly refuse. ‘Yeah, sure,’ Danny mumbled. ‘Promise you’ll think about it?’
    Brenda laughed suddenly. ‘Your father’s head, you well and truly got me there.’
    â€˜Oh?’
    â€˜I nearly died when I saw the bandage.’
    Despite himself, Danny grinned. ‘I hope you apologised?’
    â€˜Worse, I called a taxi and took him straight to Dr Keeble.’
    â€˜He didn’t object?’
    â€˜Object? He milked it for all it was worth. We got to the surgery and there were half a dozen people in the waiting room. An old lady came out just as we arrived. “Sorry, everyone, this is an emergency!”
I called out and barged straight in to Doc Keeble’s surgery, dragging your father by the hand. Well, you know what a curmudgeon old Keeble is. He unwound the bandage, removed the enormous wad of cotton wool, then sniffed. “Mrs Dunn, is this a joke? If it is, I’d be obliged if in future you didn’t waste my time!” He was as cranky as all get out.’
    â€˜And Dad?’
    â€˜â€œWhat about the golf ball? Could be concussion!” he said.’ Brenda chuckled, ‘“Or more brain damage,” Doc Keeble replied.’
    Danny laughed. ‘Yeah, I told him about the golf ball; a bit of an exaggeration, I guess. The concussion was his own idea.’ Danny caught his breath, suddenly serious. ‘Mum, please don’t think this is all over, me enlisting.’
    Brenda turned to go back into the pub. ‘You agreed to give me two or three days, Danny,’ she said crisply, her mood changing as suddenly as her son’s.
    The following morning Brenda called Doc Evatt’s court clerk, asking that the judge phone her as soon as possible, but to her surprise he put her through, cautioning her to be quick – the judge was very busy. Brenda was flustered, and said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry, Doc, but I need your advice . . . urgently.’
    â€˜Happy to oblige,’ Evatt replied. He’d always had a soft spot for her.
    Brenda was profuse in her apologies, but he cut her short. ‘Tell me what I can do for you,’ he said.
    So she did, concluding with an invitation for him and Alice to join her for dinner at Primo’s on Wednesday.
    There was a pause while Evatt consulted his diary, then he said, ‘You’re in luck with me, but not with Alice. She has a prior engagement, I’m afraid, and we’ll have to be quick because I have a complex matter in court the following morning and have to brush up on my notes. Make it six o’clock at Primo’s, out by eight-thirty?’
    Brenda, breathing a sigh of relief, thanked him.
    Brenda wore a spiffy new ensemble purchased from David Jones and chosen with advice from the fashion department manageress. Normally she would have found something at Freda’s Frocks in Darling Street, relying on Freda Morgan or Gwendy, her sister, to advise her. But both were notorious stickybeaks and understood that nobody bought a complete outfit, including hat and gloves and matching shoes, unless there was something going on that the two of them felt they, and therefore the rest of Balmain, should immediately know about.
    Brenda wasn’t the browsing type and felt completely lost in the big city department store. She’d picked a green dress, a colour Freda and Gwendy always said was ‘quintessentially her’, and was in the process of looking at a blue felt hat when the manageress approached. Smiling, she proffered her business card. ‘Madam, blue and green should never be seen,’ she said in a light but assured voice. Normally Brenda would have told her to go to buggery and gone ahead and chosen the blue hat with gloves and shoes to match, but the authority represented by the personal card had undone her, and besides, she